


I Beg To Differ

by Xx_Astrid_xX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Childhood Trauma, Dom Severus Snape, M/M, Oneshot, Painplay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sarcasm, Sub Harry Potter, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xx_Astrid_xX/pseuds/Xx_Astrid_xX
Summary: Harry Potter is scarred from dealing with all of the things he had. Severus Snape, rescued by Hermione Granger at the Battle of Hogwarts, is still a grumpy, albeit less cruel, Potions Master with little to no tolerance who absolutely hates Harry Potter- or seems to. It just so happens that that works to the advantage of the traumatized teen.





	

Severus Snape would be the first to assert that he was not the fondest of one Mister Harry Potter- unless, of course, he was second to the boy himself.  
So, obviously, when said boy requested to make the company of the Potions Master one winter day on the brink of Christmas break in his made-up seventh year, Snape was inclined to refuse.  
But, naturally, that did not stop the insufferable young lad from knocking upon the door to the Potions dungeon just as Snape was writing a rather large, rather satisfying T on one Ms. Carrow's homework.  
"Enter," Snape nearly groaned it, brow furrowing, jaw clasping. His back hunched over subconsciously, an autonomic response to being around any Potter. The boy walked in.  
To his credit, he wasn't exactly a boy any longer. Luckily for Harry, he looked less and less like James everyday, but perhaps that was simply Snape's perspective. His hair had been cut short, which suited him, and Snape dare thought it made it seem a bit tamer. His eyes still gleamed a painfully familiar green, but ever since the war, since he'd cried memories to the boy, since Harry and his friends had- Snape grudgingly admitted- saved his life, it had become surprisingly easy to look into them without being filled with rage, self-pity, or unending melancholy.  
"Out with it, Potter," Snape sneered.  
But Potter seemed to be struggling with whatever it was he'd wanted to see his Potions Master for. Snape quirked a slightly overgrown brow. "Langlock got your tongue?"  
"N-no, sir," Potter said in that voice, a voice that was very unlike both of his parents. The thought Harry was, in fact, his own person and not just a cruel mishmash of everything that had been James and Lily Potter briefly crossed Severus' mind before being dismissed with a mental scoff. That's all anyone was, anyway, more or less.  
"Then either speak, or leave," Snape said curtly. After the war, his temperament had cooled a bit simply because it could, but Harry remained an acception. He couldn't decide whether or not he truly hated the boy.  
"I, don't know how to..."  
"If you've forgotten how to speak, I'm sure you remember where the door is and that one may not desire to be smacked on the rump with it when he leaves," Snape sneered. Harry gulped, Adam's apple bobbing.  
"I know you hate me," Harry began in a voice lower than usual. It wasn't an accusation, but Snape responded as if it were.  
"I wasn't exactly hiding the fact, Mr. Potter."  
"But that's exactly why I need your help," the boy continued as if he weren't interrupted.  
"Get on with it already, Potter, I have many Slytherins to belittle to atone for my prior inability to do so without suspicion,"  
"I think I'm gay," the boy finally blurted. Snape stared at Potter for a long time, brow furrowing once more, a deep, agitated frown lining his face, nostrils flaring as he inhaled and exhaled sharply.  
"I couldn't care less if I were actively trying."  
"But there's more," Potter had worry lines in his young, strapping face.  
"I suppose you're going to tell me even if I admit that I'd rather sleep in old Dumbledore's grave than listen to your insignificant issues," Snape sighed.  
"I... I am..."  
"Honestly, Potter-"  
"I'm submissive." Harry's chin raised a fraction, proud of himself and a little defiant, perhaps of his insecurities. Snape felt astonishment rush through his body like quick smoke.  
"Fantastic. I am truly happy for your discoveries, Potter. As your Professor, I am not allowed to tell you not to seek my advice, but being who I am, I must insist you spare me your-"  
"And I want you to- to hurt me."  
Snape stared at the boy for a very, very long time, simply processing what the boy had uttered.  
It was probably a solid five minutes before Potter shifted. "You..." Snape began quietly. Distaste formed in a ball in the back of his throat, and Snape could have very well smacked the boy... And would have, if it were not the very thing he was asking for from him.  
"You are a child. The child of my first love and enemy, no less, and the epitome of everything I despise."  
"That should make it easy to hurt me," Harry whispered, and his head dropped.  
"Why?"  
"Why should it be easier or why do I want you to?" Harry asked.  
"Both," Snape decided.  
"Revenge against my father for hating and degrading you, for stealing everything you've ever loved. Revenge against my mother for abandoning you, and for choosing my father over you, and... I have her eyes..."  
Snape snorted derisively.  
"And because... I don't know. I've always fancied thinking about... It rough. But after the war... Starting after Cedric, actually, but especially after the Battle of Hogwarts, I need... I need pain. To function. To think. Because I... Because, I deserve it. Or I feel I do, Hermione seems to disagree. She nearly wept when I tried to tell her."  
Snape actually smiled, a small, calculating smirk, and stared at Harry. He lounged back in his chair, entwined his hands together, and stared at Harry. Perhaps he was no mix of his parents.  
He still looked like them, though.  
"I have no desire to exact revenge against either of your parents. I am no one's Shylock, no one's Menelaus. Your eyes would perhaps be more of a hindrance to your request than anything... However." Snape stood then, and leaned forward dramatically, an arm on either side of the desk. "As a sentient human being, I'm not sure I could deny your third reason."  
Harry looked at the bent Snape, and the latter chose not to ponder on what the boy saw when he looked at his father's old rival. Surely, if this request was reserved for him, it was nothing good.  
"Since when are you sen-" Potter began in an almost amused tone, but he bit his tongue. Snape reached forth and grabbed Potter by the hair and yanked him close. The boy inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes, steeling himself.  
"Did you say something?" Snape asked, giving a small smirk. Potter didn't move or speak, and Snape, satisfied, released the boy. Snape turned on his heel and hightailed it towards his personal quarters. Potter followed, and Snape waved him onto a dull, worn green sofa. Potter sat in his awkward way, too straight, too tense. It had always been that way. At first, it had seemed to begin to slowly loosen, but abruptly (around fifth year) it had tensed back up. Snape didn't really care why.  
"Safe word?" Snape asked. He'd never really discussed things like safe words or hard limits, but since Potter was so very young, and very inexperienced, he found it a necessary nuisance.  
"U-uh...:  
"I believe you say 'uh' far too often to be a viable safe word."  
"Pumpkin."  
"And your hard limits?"  
"I... What?"  
Snape chuckled, then sat beside Potter. "You're impossibly stupid."  
"What?" Potter's eyebrows twitched together, face unsettled.  
"You asked for something you know nothing about."  
"I asked for pain, not questions." Potter looked away from Snape.  
Snape's eyes narrowed as he examined Potter, who did not look at the older man. "Very well, then. If you want me to stop, say 'pumpkin'." Snape yanked Potter backwards by his hair, and the boy groaned. "Until then, I'm going to make you regret your request,"  
"I beg to differ," Potter said, voice full of pain. Snape laughed a cruel, sardonic laugh, and began.

 

Two hours later, Harry was naked and spread out on Snape's bed, nipples pointed and sore, arse pink and aching, back stringing from a flog. Potter had never imagined that Snape would have so many... Instruments... For pain. Snape was sitting on his leg behind Harry's head, eyes closed, toying with Harry's short hair.  
"Thank you," Harry whispered quietly. Snape smirked.  
"You're welcome."  
"May I come back?" Harry's voice was broken. He hoped he'd made it good for Snape, too.  
"Whenever you'd like," Snape's voice was quiet as well. "I was afraid you'd gotten your fill of pain. I went very hard on you."  
"I don't think I'll ever get my fill of pain," Harry said gently.  
"That's alright," Snape assured. Harry yawned.  
"I don't think I can walk back to my dorm. I can't feel my feet."  
Snape laughed, a quiet, genuine laugh. "You can sleep here."  
Harry smiled, a genuine smile, and yawned before quickly drifting to sleep.


End file.
